


Poison

by kotosk (Kotosk)



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash, Secret Crush, Sickfic, Vomiting, ed cannot handle this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:07:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25958749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kotosk/pseuds/kotosk
Summary: “You're the sixteenth soldier who suffered food poison today,” the bastard continued, his hand sliding lower, and that was the worst moment to get the butterflies in his stomach, considering the very real threat of those butterflies getting out right that instant.
Relationships: Edward Elric/Roy Mustang
Comments: 6
Kudos: 114





	Poison

In retrospect, Ed really should've taken Havoc’s advice and just avoid the cafeteria altogether.

He also should've reconsidered when he noticed that his soup smelled a bit sour; the taste was okay though, so he shrugged and paid it no mind. Between his childhood in Resembool and surviving on an island and the dubious things he ate on the trains he always assumed his stomach could handle anything he tried. Plus Ed wasn't ready seeing Mustang’s stupid handsome face while hungry so not eating wasn't an option. 

On a scale of bad decisions in his life (and boy didn't he make plenty of those) this one didn't score particularly high, but it still resulted in him puking his guts out in the empty bathroom near Mustang’s office. 

He coughed wetly, trying to clear his windpipe from the soup remains before the next spam hit him. He doubled over the porcelain, counting the seconds he couldn't breathe as his empty stomach tried to leave his body. Finally he was able to take a shuddering breath, wiping the tears from his eyes while he was at it. 

At least he managed to throw his report on the window sill so it didn't have to get in contact with the bathroom floor. And reach the bathroom at all. Ed imagined losing it in the middle of the hallway and winced. 

Ed was contemplating whether or not he could trust himself to crawl over to the sink and take some water when the door behind him creaked. He had a grim feeling he knew who it was. 

“Fullmetal?”

Of fucking course. 

Ed opened his mouth to tell Mustang to go away when his stomach decided it wasn't done. This time some bile came out, ruining his already sore throat even further. 

Trust Roy fucking Mustang to stroll in when he couldn't even breathe properly, clinging to a toilet all red faced and gross. 

The steps behind him suddenly got really close, and a few moments later Ed felt careful hands collecting his bangs, away from his face and behind his ears, catching errand strands of hair on the way. 

The gesture reminded him of _home_ with a pang so painful it got hard to breathe for an entirely different reason. 

Mustang, mercifully unaware of his internal turmoil, stepped away. Ed heard water rushing, then a coffee cup filled with water appeared in the corner of his vision. He took it, nodding weakly.

Tap water mixed with some leftover drops of coffee was disgusting as usual, but still better than bile. Ed took a small sip to wash his mouth, spitting it out after a few seconds. He was about to drink some when Mustang’s hand came to rest on his back, making him choke and wince at the pain in his throat, stomach churning menacingly with the movement. 

“Cafeteria food, right?” the bastard had the audacity to sound like he cared. Ed hoped his flushed face wasn't getting even redder. He nodded again, not trusting himself to speak, Mustang’s hand still burning him through the layers of clothing. 

“You're the sixteenth soldier who suffered food poison today,” the bastard continued, his hand sliding lower, and that was the worst moment to get the butterflies in his stomach, considering the very real threat of those butterflies getting out right that instant. Ed took another sip, trying to calm his racing heart. Having a crush and being horribly sick turned out to feel disturbingly similar. 

He realized that Mustang was still talking and tuned back in. 

“... samples to determine whether something was spoiled or the food has been compromised somehow. Come, we should get you to the infirmary.”

Oh hell no. 

“‘m not going to the fucking infirmary,” Ed said. He braced himself for the upcoming argument but to his surprise Mustang didn't press further.

“My office, then. I'm not leaving you unsupervised, Fullmetal,” Mustang agreed easily, his other hand joining the first one on Ed's shoulders. “Can you walk?”

“Course I can,” he mumbled, carefully finding his balance and just as carefully standing up. Blood rushed to his head, and for a moment he was really grateful for Mustang’s support as his vision blackened at the movement. 

Mustang took his empty cup, shoved a bucket into his hands instead, threw the cup into a garbage can and reached for his report. Ed dimly wondered if the man was always this active when it came to avoiding doing paperwork. 

“You really shouldn't leave these around,” Mustang waved his report as he took Ed's elbow, leading him out of the bathroom. “Your reports are confidential and someone could've taken it while you weren't looking.”

“Right, because fixing that city's train station would make such a thrilling reading,” Ed snorted, clutching his bucket a little tighter as walking set off another wave of nausea. 

They reached the outer office, blissfully empty as their lunch hour hadn't ended yet. Mustang let go of his elbow to fish out the keys to his office, ushering Ed inside once he unlocked it. 

Ed placed the bucket near the Mustang’s couch and collapsed on it; their short journey took a lot more energy than he'd expected. After a few seconds he carefully lay down, waiting out the unhappy spasm his stomach gave at the movement. Lying down felt great though.

Mustang breezed past him towards his desk, and Ed closed his eyes, listening to Mustang ruffle through his papers.

Apparently he passed out for a second, because he didn't hear Mustang approaching him at all. Ed flinched when he felt the air move above him, and he was greeted with the sight of the colonel covering him with a woolen blanket.

“Hawkeye let you keep this?” oh god he was blushing again wasn't he. He was a bit(a lot) chilly after getting dehydrated so the blanket was welcome but he felt he's 5 seconds away from self combustion. Damn Mustang. 

“She can be merciful,” Mustang chuckled, briefly touching Ed's forehead, probably thinking he'd got a fever on top of the food poisoning. His hand was warm. Ed squeezed his eyes shut and tried to will himself into unconsciousness.

To his surprise, it worked.

***

“Ed, wake up.”

He stirred at the sound. His core muscles ached something horrible, as did his throat, but he wasn't nauseous anymore. 

Mustang’s hand was back, gently pushing his bangs away and laying on his forehead. 

“Getting handsy here, Mustang,” he mumbled, wincing at how hoarse his voice was. 

“How are you feeling?” the bastard ignored him, actually sounding concerned. 

Shit, was he going to die or something?

Ed shook his hand off and rubbed at his eyes before opening them. Mustang was sitting next to him, a solid warmth against his side, and he was holding a glass of water. 

Maybe he already died and that was hell and he hadn't noticed. 

“Are you nauseous? Headache? Any sharp pain?” 

Caring Mustang was highly unnerving but fuck if it didn't feel nice. 

“Nah, I'm good,” he sat up, ignoring his screaming abs and taking the glass from Mustang. “You're being suspiciously nice,” he added after taking a sip. 

Mustang shrugged, clasping his hands together in front of him.

“I received a call from the labs, they found an unidentified toxin in most of the meals. Are you sure you feel alright?” Mustang scrutinized him for a few moments after Ed nodded, then sighed and raised from the couch. 

“It seems your body rejected the toxin fast enough that it didn't cause any damage,” Mustang sat behind his desk and leaned back in his chair before flashing him a smirk. “You're lucky you're so small, shrimp.”

Ed gasped, trying to get enough air in his lungs for the upcoming outburst when his throat reminded him with a painful pang that he wasn't in the condition for shouting. He coughed, managing a weak ‘fuck off’ in between spasms, which Mustang graciously pretended not to notice.

Ed turned away from him and took the blanket off, folding the heavy fabric as neatly as he could and leaving it on the couch. He got up as well, weak from the sleep and jittery, but nowhere near that awful he'd felt before the nap. Mustang was looking through his papers, and Ed spent a few seconds watching slim fingers picking at various folders and piles of paperwork. He finally found what he was looking for and slid a manila folder across the desk for Ed to take. 

“Your next mission, Fullmetal. Try not to agitate the entire city this time,” Mustang grabbed the nearest pile of paperwork and picked up his pen. “Dismissed.”

“Can't promise anything, “ Ed huffed, tucking the folder under his automail arm and turning to leave. Wasn't his fucking fault the city couldn't decide on the simplest things so he had to improvise with the building's design. Old Optain had the coolest train station in the country thanks to him. 

“If you feel worse, have Al call the ambulance,” Ed almost reached the door when Mustang called for him, and he waved his hand at that without turning. 

The team outside greeted him, and he could only hope they’d think his face was red with anger.

**Author's Note:**

> based on a true story, do not eat mushroom soup when you have a 40h travel ahead of you lmao


End file.
